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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30069189">A Perfect Cupcake</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlotte123456789/pseuds/charlotte123456789'>charlotte123456789</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Harry Potter One-Shots [58]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Baking, Canonical Character Death, Cupcakes, Family, Grief, Loss, Potions, Sad times, Sadness, Siblings, Stress Baking, joke shop, working through issues</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:01:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,484</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30069189</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlotte123456789/pseuds/charlotte123456789</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>If he could get this right then maybe there was hope of getting the store open again in future.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fred Weasley &amp; George Weasley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Harry Potter One-Shots [58]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2157993</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Perfect Cupcake</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The funeral was a quiet affair. Nothing like Fred would have actually wanted, but it was a sad time for everyone, attending  funeral after funeral would sap the last tidbits of joy from anyone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George hadn’t even wanted to attend , he had decided that he would  stay holed up in his room where he could be  sequestered away from prying eyes hoping for any signs of a change in him, enough that he would go to the funeral.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he didn’t want to go or feel anything for that matter. How could he </span>
  <em>
    <span>possibly </span>
  </em>
  <span>feel anything other than a sickening numbness because his other half was now cold, dead and rotting six feet under? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>How could </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> expect him to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>alright?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he was dragged to the funeral, dressed  in his formal robes. He felt awkward and gangly, nothing like the man he was supposed to be. But he wasn’t really a man, was he? Just a boy who had yet to grow up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stared at the gravestone. </span>
  <em>
    <span>At least I would grow up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Straight after the funeral, he had Disapparated on the spot before anyone else could corner him to ask him how he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>coping. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He went right back to his flat above the shop that had been </span>
  <em>
    <span>their</span>
  </em>
  <span> dream and cried for what felt like an eternity.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How was he supposed to go on? His best friend had always been a part of his future — there was never an alternative version without him. Except for this new reality he now faced.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He blocked off the Floo, then spent the next week crying, raging, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>screaming at the world.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Cursing Merlin with every fibre of his being for the hand he had been dealt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All he felt was a hollow emptiness inside, like a never ending hole that would remain a bottomless pit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, he couldn’t just stay inside any longer. He knew he had to do something, </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything, </span>
  </em>
  <span>to distract himself from the throbbing pain he constantly felt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The store? The store.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been ransacked during the war and looked entirely worse for wear. But the bones of the building were still standing strong and it could be refurbished.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The tidying up of the actual building was a simple task, monotonous and calming. It was quick work once he got into the flow of it, a good distraction from the pain. The agony would strike whenever he glanced at something and suddenly a memory of Fred would appear that he would have to suppress, in fear of bursting into tears.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But then came the more difficult part — the products.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It has always been a team effort; they had come up with the ideas together, developed them together, brewed and spelled and made it all </span>
  <em>
    <span>together.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And now he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>alone.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first time he tried brewing a new potion by himself, he had burst into tears and set the concoction on fire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next few attempts didn’t go much better either, he couldn’t focus and his hurting magic kept flaring up and ruining whatever he was trying to make.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because it just wasn’t the same without </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So he went back to the drawing board; he needed something easier to lead into potions, something less chaotic and more cathartic. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Baking</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Growing up, the kitchen had always been a treasure trove of freshly baked goods, whether that be a beautiful crusty loaf of bread or newly iced buns cooling on a rack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred and George had loved helping stir the array of ingredients in various bowls and then, more importantly, licking the bowls when there was no more mixture to be used.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe it could be a step in the right direction?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George’s first set of cupcakes turned out to be a gloopy mess that were burnt on the outside and raw on the inside. He cried at the attempt and thought of the fun Fred would have made about it. He could imagine him laughing now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Georgey? Really, looking about as good as you do in the morning!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He steeled himself and attempted a second batch — they were charred. A third — they were gloopy again. A fourth — exploded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A fifth — perfect?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had tried, tried and tried once more until he thought that he may have perfected the recipe. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because these cupcakes, in a way, were his tribute to Fred. He hadn’t been able to put anything in the coffin; it had been  a rushed ceremony as there were more families needing to bury their loved ones. He hadn’t been able to grieve with his family. He loved them, but he felt too cooped up around them, all of them pressing onto him, asking too many questions when he just wanted to be left alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But if he could get these cupcakes right, then he may be able to manage a potion, and if he could manage to brew a potion, then he might be able to get their dream shop up and running again — even if Fred wasn’t there to see it in person.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He left the perfect batch of cupcakes to cool. Then he proceeded to make a tonne of frosting and iced each one with military precision.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He inhaled deeply as he stared at the one he had deemed the best. It was beautifully baked, a light golden colour on top which was now hidden beneath a libral layer of pearly white icing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He picked it up with shaking hands and cradled it close to his chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Exhaling, he Disapparated.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he was standing firmly on solid ground again, he anxiously looked down at the cupcake he was still so carefully holding and could breathe easily once more, when he saw it was still in perfect condition.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He strode forward, carefully trying not to gaze around him at all the headstones and freshly turned dirt, more painful reminders of the brutal war he had managed to survive through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or the fact he had lived through the horror but his brother had </span>
  <em>
    <span>not.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He came to a stop at the gravestone he was looking for.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fred Weasley</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>01/04/1978 - 02/05/1998</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Beloved son, brother and friend.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George stared at it in silence before moving forward and carefully placing the cupcake down in front of the memorial.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t get too excited.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His voice cracked as he uttered the sentence and what noise left him next could only be a haunting cross between a laugh and a sob of anguish.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I mean it, Fred. Don’t get too excited. That cupcake took me five tries, and I’m still not sure if it’s entirely edible.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knew it was perfect. Anything less than perfection for this tribute to his twin l would have been a sham.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this without you. It was always </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘we will do this’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>or </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘we will do that’ — </span>
  </em>
  <span>there never was a time I imagined us apart. Except now we are, because you just had to go and be a hero and now I’m alone. I can’t do this without you, Fred. I love you, and it hurts me every day to keep on going. But I know that I have to, because I need to do this for us. I will get the shop back up and running and </span>
  <em>
    <span>we</span>
  </em>
  <span> will have the greatest joke shop on the continent. I promise you that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was silent in the cemetery apart from George’s heavy breathing  as he tried to catch his breath from the long speech he had just given.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“For us, Freddy. I can do it, for </span>
  <em>
    <span>us</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The next year was tough; nobody wanted to laugh yet. Nobody wanted to find pleasure when there was still so much sadness reverberating around Wizarding Britain.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George still struggled with the potions. It took many more midnight baking sessions that ended in tears before he was able to finally produce a potion to be proud of.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he persevered and kept on going until finally, after a year and a half without Fred by his side to help him, he deemed it time to reopen the shop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was time to achieve </span>
  <em>
    <span>their </span>
  </em>
  <span>dream that they had been aspiring towards all </span>
  <em>
    <span>their</span>
  </em>
  <span> lives.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a happy, sad and overall a tearful occasion that had people coming from far and wide to witness. And of course, there were perfectly iced cupcakes ready for everyone on arrival that, if eaten, most definitely would </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> turn them into a fluffy white terrier that matched the icing perfectly on the cupcakes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George smiled as he took in the scenes of carnage and elation. The hole in his heart may still be there, but this little bit of joy at seeing their dream filled a little gap. He would have to explain everything that had happened today to his brother, when he visited the cemetery later with one of his perfected cupcakes.</span>
</p>
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